


easy

by achapterends



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Asexuality, Coming Out, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achapterends/pseuds/achapterends
Summary: Harry and Louis share a bed. Louis comes out. Harry loves unconditionally.





	

**Author's Note:**

> By far from the first thing I've written, but the first thing I've posted in a long while because I'm very insecure about my writing. I hope this little drabble is enjoyable. Ace Louis is probably one of my favourite headcanons and I hope I've managed to do it justice. Please let me know if I depict anything insensitively, I've tried my hardest not to. Thanks for reading!

It’s raining. It usually is, in London at least, or maybe that’s just England, because Louis remembers it being this rainy back home in Doncaster, too. Either way, it’s raining, and he’s cold, because the heater in their flat has decided to pack in right when they need it the most. They’ve mentioned it to their landlord a few times, but it still hasn’t been fixed and Louis is _still fucking cold_. He loves to complain about it as well, when he’s buried under a soft blanket with his feet tucked under his legs and one of Zayn’s old Vans sweaters pulled over his head, unable to warm himself up.

Which is why, on this particular night, he’s taken to complaining about it from the doorway to Harry’s bedroom. He’s stood there in the dim light with his arms folded, fake-shivering so Harry feels sorry for him. It isn’t working. Harry is sat up in bed, with Louis’ glasses perched on his nose for some weird reason (Louis thinks he looks cute in them, so he doesn’t ask for them back), and a book open in his lap. He hasn’t paid any attention to the grumpy boy practically begging for it in the five minutes that Louis has been stood there. Naturally, Louis is pissed off, not to mention cold, so he doesn’t really think twice about it when he slides across the hardwood floor in his fluffy socks and launches himself onto Harry’s queen sized bed.

Harry is his best friend. Since the first week of university they’d gotten along, and now three years after graduating they’re still going strong. They share the pokey flat in Camden Town that Louis has come to be quite fond of, they share a friend called Zayn who hooks them up with old records and good weed, and they share something else, some unnamed feeling that seems to Louis a bit like love.

So sharing a bed isn’t unheard of for the two of them, is the point. When they were in first year, it was pretty much a given that beds would be shared, especially after nights out when Louis got way too drunk and Harry had to carry him back to his dorm and then slip in beside him to make sure Louis didn’t choke on his own vomit. Or, when Harry’s childhood cat died and the boy was left devastated, only interacting with humans when they were 5 and a half feet of sharp edges and soft middles and went by the name of Louis.

Or now, when they’re properly grown adults with adult jobs and adult beds in their separate rooms. When Louis is cold, for fuck’s sake, and just wants a cuddle.

“Jesus!” Harry yelps when Louis’ bare foot presses against his thigh. He perches the glasses on top of his matted curls and kicks at Louis’ shin.

“Shut up. I’m cold. Make me warm.” Louis burrows beneath the covers and shuffles closer to Harry, wrapping his leg over Harry’s middle and sighing happily when Harry gives in and rests his book on the nightstand, page dog-eared where he left it.

“I know you’re cold, Louis. You’ve told me about five hundred times in the last ten minutes.” Harry snaps, but his body instinctively relaxes into Louis’ touch. He lifts his arm up so Louis can rest his head by the joint of his shoulder, and steadily works his fingers into Louis’ hair, petting it just the way he likes. “I’ll call again tomorrow, see if someone’ll come fix the heater.”

Louis hums in response and his eyelids flutter shut. Now that he’s finally beginning to warm up, he’s sleepy, even though it’s not even 10pm and he has no reason to be up in the morning seeing as it’s his day off. Sue him. He blames Harry.

He blames Harry for a lot of things. Mostly, he blames him for being so ridiculously easy to fall in love with. Which, frankly, is the bane of Louis’ entire existence. It’s hard to be in unreciprocated love with your best friend slash roommate for going on seven years.

“You better. I’m too pretty to be so uncared for.”

Harry scoffs. He doesn’t deny it. It’s no secret that Louis is quite beautiful.

“So,” Harry starts, lifting his spare hand up and gently wrapping it around Louis’ little waist to pull him in further. “How was your day?”

“Work was slow. I drank approximately twenty five cups of tea to help me through it. But I think that article I wrote, y’know the one about that new theatre company?” Harry nods. “I think it’s gonna be published next week.”

Harry beams. He’s always been supportive of Louis, no matter what he does. When Louis first landed his job as Assistant Editor for the local arts magazine, Harry had thrown a party in their flat and even made a special cake for him. He has clippings of every article that Louis has ever written kept in a scrapbook under his bed. “That’s great, Lou. The part about your article being published, not the excessive tea drinking. Not sure I’d like to have your bladder right now.”

Louis lets out a warm laugh against Harry’s neck. “I’ve pissed for England today.”

A comfortable silence falls upon the room. Outside, the rain lashes against the window, and an ambulance flies past in a flurry of lights and sirens. Louis takes solace in the feel of Harry breathing next to him.

“We have a new line in at the bakery. These little creamy cakes. Think you’d like ‘em.” Harry fills the silence with general chit chat about his morning at work. It’s trivial stuff. He tells Louis about how he managed to drop a whole bag of flour in a mixing bowl, and about a bizarre order from a customer for a wedding do. Boring, mindless information that Louis soaks up like a sponge simply because he loves the sound of Harry’s voice to lull him into peacefulness.

He’s not sure why he says it, really. But he does.

“Harry, y’know I’m gay, yeah?”

Harry tenses up. “Yeah. Um, well, I think? I know you’ve never told me and I’d never ask because that’s your business, but I, uh, I assumed.”

Louis shifts a little, props himself up on his elbows so he can look at Harry. “Yeah. I am. I should have told you. I’ve always known. It’s just, there was always something else? Something I wasn’t sure of. But I know now.”

Harry cocks his head and gives Louis’ waist a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It urges him to go on.

“I’m asexual. I’m not interested in sex, I guess. At least not right now.” And there it is, out in the open.

Louis has struggled with it for a long time, never feeling the pull of sexual attraction that everyone talked about when he was growing up. He got flack for it in uni, especially, when all his friends were taking home one night stands and Louis never had fun stories to tell during games of truth or dare. He’s surprised, actually, that Harry has never pried about it. Sure, they’ve briefly discussed Louis’ dates (gender non specific in such conversation), and Louis knows that Harry is bisexual, but it’s a topic that rarely gets brought up in their relationship. Which is comforting, in a weird sort of way.

Louis looks down, his eyelashes sweeping across his cheeks, and Harry thinks he is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“That’s brave, Louis. You’re so…”

“Yeah.” Louis swallows, and there’s sort of a melancholy mood that washes over them.

Harry grabs Louis by his middle and with one swift movement, lifts him up so the older, smaller boy is straddling his hips. It’s so comfortable, always is when it’s the two of them, because they know each other like the back of their hands and personal space has never been an issue - everything they _do_ feels comfortable. Feels like home. “Are you alright with that?”

“I’m not ashamed of who I am, Harry.” Louis dips his head and presses a gentle kiss against Harry’s cheek. “But I don’t expect you to understand, either.”

Harry frowns a little, brows furrowing, and he runs his hand up Louis’ back. “I understand. Some people won’t, and that’s shit. But you know it doesn’t change anything, right? It doesn’t, like, define you. The right person will love you no matter _what_.” He pauses for a beat. “Anyone would be lucky to love you, Louis.”

Louis wants to rip his fucking hair out and beat at Harry’s chest and scream _so why won’t_ **_you_ ** _love me?!_ Instead, he makes a disgruntled sort of sound and opts for going limp in Harry’s arms. He wants to go to sleep and he wants to pretend that Harry wants him as much as he wants Harry.

“Thank you for telling me. Y’know, um, coming out to me. It means a lot.” Harry goes back to stroking Louis’ hair idly. He reaches down and pulls the blanket up so Louis’ bottom half is covered some more (he did insist on warming up, after all), and then switches off the lamp.

“You’re my best friend. I’ll tell you anything.” _Except that I’m in love with you_. “I just needed time. Lots of it, apparently.”

Harry smiles softly, just enough so Louis can feel the way his lips curl up. “I’d wait forever for you.”

And, well. That.

Louis barely catches himself before he’s searing up and kissing Harry. It’s a little too much teeth and Harry gasps into it and for a second, Louis think he’s going to pull away but he doesn’t, he only kisses harder and deeper and fuck if it isn’t the best thing Louis’ ever felt. He feels light headed and like he’s 16 again, but he isn’t, he’s 25 years old and he’s helplessly in love with his best friend and his best friend is _kissing him back._

“Lou,” Harry breathes between kisses, into Louis’ warm and open mouth, and Louis is high on the way Harry’s lips taste and feel. “ _Baby_ ,”

Louis is dying. He’s positively dying.

He stops kissing Harry. He’s catching his breath, heaving long huffs of air into his burning lungs. Harry’s thumb is on his cheek, rubbing in small, circular motions. He’s dying.

“What was that for?” Harry says, voice rough and raspy. Louis struggles to meet his eyes but he does it anyway and his chest constricts too tight.

Well, it’s too late to turn back now, “I love you. I _love_ you.”

Louis leans in and kisses him again, feeling brave. Harry is the one to break it off this time, obviously wanting to press for answers. He does so gently, pushing against Louis’ chest so he’s still sitting atop Harry, but less close. Louis looks momentarily terrified and Harry hates that, so he grabs Louis’ hand and squeezes it.

“How long?” Is all Harry says. Not what Louis was expecting, if he’s being honest. It must show on his face, because Harry laughs.

“I don’t know. The beginning?”

A flush of pink creeps up Louis’ chest from beneath where his scoop neck shirt lies on his collarbone, just barely covering the _It Is What It Is_ tattoo, and travels up to his cheeks. He never anticipated it being this embarrassing.

“And you never thought to tell me?”

“Harry.” Louis deadpans. “I’ve only just told you that I like boys. Let alone that I’m in love with you, you twat.” He rolls his eyes.

Just like that, Louis is back to being his obnoxious, sarcastic, bratty self. It’s endlessly endearing.

Harry leans forward and presses his chest against Louis’, getting all up in his space. Louis instinctively falls into it, mouthing at the skin of Harry’s neck. It’s different, doing this, but it feels like they’ve been doing it all along. “If you didn’t get it, I’m in love with you too.”

The affirmation that Louis has been hoping for, for the better part of a decade, comes out of Harry all at once. _He loves me back_.

“And you know what I love about you, Louis? I love that you’re unapologetically _you_ . You’re so brave. You’re so…. _proud_. I meant it when I said anyone would be lucky to love you. I think I’ve been counting my blessings for a long time.”

Harry presses a soft kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth, one that Louis whimpers into.

“Do you also love how beautiful I am?” Louis says only half jokingly, nuzzling into Harry. He’s like a little kitten.

“The most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, baby.”

Louis really could get used to this. He preens under Harry’s attention. “I like it when you call me that.”

Harry’s grin is too wide. It’s too wide, and Louis wants to slap him, because now he knows that Louis’ weakness is pet names. Not wanting to ruin the moment, he pinches Harry’s bare thigh instead. He gets called a twat for that. You win some, you lose some. It's just so easy, is the thing. They're still best friends. They're also whatever _this_ is now and, yeah, it's easy.

They somehow end up back under the warmth of the duvet, all tangled up with Louis half asleep on Harry. Harry can’t seem to stop himself from kissing Louis’ forehead every now and then, a gentle reassurance that he’s there, that he loves him. And in return, Louis will trace the inky moth on Harry’s tummy and whisper that he loves him too.

It’s gone 3 A.M. when they finally stop fighting sleep. Louis feels light as a feather, knowing that everything is out in the open. Knowing that Harry is his, and he is Harry’s. The way it’s always meant to be. The way it always sort of has been.

In the silence of the room, the heater whirs and switches back on.

  



End file.
